and at the verse, "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but to thy name give the glory," every man knelt on the ground. They then sang the Te Deum, and so closed the renowned battle of Azincourt.
Of all the battles ever fought by France up to that time none was ever so fatal as that of Azincourt. "Never did so many and so noble men fall in one battle," says their own chronicler, Monstrelet. It was a wholesale slaughter of its princes and nobles. Seven princes of the blood had fallen; the Constable D'Albret; the Dukes of Brabant, of Barre, and Alençon; the Count of Nevers, the brother of the Dukes of Burgundy and Brabant, the Counts of Marie and another brother, John, brothers of the Duke of Barre; the Count of Vaudemont, brother to the Duke of Lorraine, the Archbishop of Sens, the Count of Dampierre, the Lords Helly, who fell as Henry had promised him, of Rambure, Verchin, and Messire Guichard Dauphin, the other deputy who was sent to Henry before the battle. On the whole there fell that day 10,000 men, amongst whom there was one marshal, thirteen earls, ninety-two barons, 1,500 knights, and 8,000 gentlemen.
There were 14,000 prisoners left in the hands of the English, amongst whom were the Dukes of Orleans and Bourbon, the Marshal Bourcioault, the Counts Eu, Vendôme, Richemont, Craon, and Harcourt, and 7,000 barons, knights, and gentlemen. No wonder that the news of so direful an overthrow, so unexampled a slaughter and capture of the aristocracy of the country, should spread consternation throughout France.
The highest estimate of the loss of the English is 1,600, while Elmham contends that it was only 100, and other contemporary writers that it was only forty. Taking the highest estimate, it was a wonderful disparity between the loss of the conquerors and the conquered. The only persons of note who fell on the English side were the Earl of Suffolk and the Duke of York, a man whose whole life had been stained with treachery and meanness, and of which it might be said that its only honourable incident was its termination.
The horror which fell on the whole of France at the news of this terrible defeat, is described by contemporary writers as extreme. The whole country appeared stunned and stupefied. Those near to the spot or concerned in it were dejected and inconsolable. The Duke of Orleans was found on the field buried beneath a heap of slain, by a brave English squire, Robert Waller; and when made aware of all that had taken place, he seemed like a dead man, and determined to die by starvation. Henry went to console and cheer him, but ho found it a difficult task. "How fare you, cousin?" he said; "why do you refuse to eat and drink?" The duke replied that he was resolved to fast. "Not so," said the king;" "make good cheer; if God has given me the grace to win this victory, I acknowledge that it is through no merit of mine own. I believe that God has willed that the French shall be punished; and if what I have heard be true, it is no wonder, for they tell me that never was there seen such disorder, such license of wickedness, such debauchery and shameful vices as now prevail in France. It is pitiful and horrible to hear, and certainly the wrath of God must have been awakened."
No two facts, indeed, could be more striking than the depraved condition of France at that period, and the great advance which Henry had made on his predecessors, the Edwards and the Black Prince, in humanity and sound policy. He went through the country like a man who sought to win the hearts as well as the sovereignty of the people. He strictly forbade all injury to the inhabitants of the districts through which he passed, insisting on everything being duly paid for, so that, instead of the wild demon work of the Black Prince, his father, and great grandfather, he might have been simply marching through his own territory; and it is but justice to his father to say, such had been his practice in his English and Scotch campaigns.
On the following morning the English set forward again from Maisoncelles, on their way to Calais; Henry still endeavouring to dissipate the gloom of his prisoner, the Duke of Orleans, had him to ride along with him, and conversed with him in a kind manner. This was the same young Duke of Orleans who had married and already lost Isabella of Valois, the widow of Richard II., whom Henry had so perseveringly endeavoured to gain for himself, but in vain. The disappointed lover was now become the conqueror and master of his successful rival, and though he did not let any feeling connected with the subject appear, it is nevertheless true that he kept Orleans during his own life captive, refusing all ransom for him, as the next heir to France after Charles the dauphin. Orleans was a beautiful lyric poet, and composed many of his finest poems in the Tower of London. He remained a captive in England twenty-three years.
Philip, Count of Charolais, the son of the Duke of Burgundy, afterwards so well known under the name of Philip the Good, was at the time residing in the neighbouring castle of Aire. His father had sternly prohibited him from taking any part in the battle, but so soon as he heard of the catastrophe he was perfectly overwhelmed with grief, and, like the Duke of Orleans, refused all sustenance. But the moment that he heard how the dead had been stripped, he sent the bailiff of Aire and the Abbot of Ruisseauville to see all the French interred. The English are said to have carried the whole of their dead into a large wooden barn, and burnt them to ashes.
Five thousand eight hundred of the aristocracy of France were buried by the abbot and bailiff in three great pits, in twenty-five roods of land, which they purchased for the purpose; and the Bishop of Guisnes went down to these awful wholesale graves, and sprinkled the dead bodies with holy water, and blest their resting-place, which for ages afterwards was conspicuous by its enclosure of trees. The Count of Charolais conquered his grief sufficiently to attend in person the funerals of his uncles, the Duke of Brabant aud the Count of Nevers. The friends of other knights and gentlemen came and carried away their bodies to their own estates, or buried them in the neighbouring churches with much mourning. Thousands of others, who had managed to crawl from the field into the adjoining villages, died and were buried there, but many others perished in the neighbouring woods, the prey of wolves and ravens. And then came down a long, drear silence on that terrible field, now become a perpetual name.
This great battle was fought on the 25th of October, 1415, the day of Crispin and Crispianus, and though the plough has been busy on the spot for upwards of
